Dancing Doll
by Lacewing
Summary: Creepypasta based upon the character of the puppeteer created by bleedingheartworks. 2 chapter short. Detective David is haunted to find the truth of a strange suicide case of a girl named Valerie Booker. And who is this strange and unknown shadowed golden eyed man?
1. Chapter 1

**Dancing Doll**

_Chapter 1_

_Inspired by creepypasta character created by bleedingheartworks_

00oo00

A pile of papers. All that was left of the woman from the now abandoned cabin at the edge of the wood.

How could someone leave so little an impact?

The detective sighed as he went through the paperwork, looking over the effects of the suicide.

The body had been there for some time, so it had been well into decomposition when the police had been called because a neighbor having not seen the home's resident in some time had gotten curious because of a bad smell.

He looked over again, the only real 'evidence' of a sort. A journal that had quite a fantasy life inside its pages.

The woman was one Valerie Booker.

And she had been completely alone in the world.

He saw pictures, testimonials from neighbors. She had been a perfectly nice and respectable girl. Seemed she like to sing while gardening, laughed often and smiled just as much. She fed the strays and volunteered during town activities whenever an extra set of hands were needed.

Why would someone like this take her own life?

From all the reports he had, she had lost everything, had fled to this cabin with what little she still had. Maybe to try a new life? Get a fresh start? But for all her friendly ways she didn't seem to make many friends. And despite everyone knowing about her laugh and smile, knowing she was dependable and quick to help anyone that needed it, no one in town seemed to have even really known her name, except her pharmacist. He knew her name only because he filled her prescriptions.

And maybe there was the key to the truth of the matter. Those prescriptions.

The girl was a cocktail of so many pills. It was a wonder she could keep up the smiles at all.

The David wondered just how honest those smiles must have been in truth? Were they just her pretense so she could continue to look normal for the town? A way to keep people away from her so they didn't ask too many questions? Like where she came from, who was she related to? So many questions people should have asked, but no one did.

Admittedly Detective David could also be counted among those that recalled only a laugh and a bright smile. And he could be counted among those who had had zero curiosity about the friendly girl who'd moved into town.

And that he realized was strange. So, strange. He picked up a photo, one that caught his eye. It was a crowd shot, taken during a fall carnival. She was holding a box, and laughing on one side, it was like she was talking to someone, but no one else was reacting to her.

Tapping his finger on the photo he turned it around and checked the date on the back and then warming up the scanner he scanned the photo.

Once on his aging computer he highlighted close to her, the direction she was looking towards.

It was like there was something there, in the shadows.

Highlighting the area he enhanced the photo, made it larger. Looking closer.

Was… that a glowing smile?

Disturbed he figured it was just his imagination, he set it aside and went back to the other photos. But finding himself noticing a trend. Always she smiled brightest towards the shadows. Always her eyes seemed drawn towards.. something.. not fully on camera.

David gulped, not sure why this disturbed him so. Why a trick of the light was bothering him. So he set that aside and went back to the journal.

Often it was nothing but things she wanted to remember. The date she moved into her house, recipes, taped in bits of seed packets and how well they grew for her, how she was debating getting chickens. She seemed to be another on that 'homesteading' trend. People who wanted to be a bit more self sufficient and less dependent upon all their food and supplies coming from stores. She didn't write much about her past, though now and then there was an entry. Marked often as dates with '5th anniversary'. Those dates when referenced showed deaths. All of them, people who she knew. Friends, family, lovers. Until as far as David could find, there was only her.

No wonder she had been taking so many meds.

According to the pharmacist she hadn't filled any of those meds in a couple months.

So, she was on so many antidepressants and other chemicals to keep her from going off the deep end, and according to the autopsy she either OD'ed herself on sleeping pills or was hung, maybe she did both?

Then there were other entries, that caught his eye.

Various dates with increasing regularity over several months.

_December 15__th_

_17__th__ Anniversary._

This one he found seemed to be her parents, who died in a car crash caused by a drunk driver. She had been about 15 years old from what he could figure subtracting dates. But there was a bit more to the entry than just the date.

_Hey mom, I think I met someone tonight! I'm rather excited, I moved to this town last year hoping maybe I could make some friends, people I don't have to get too close to, so maybe they won't die anymore. But its rather lonely just staying a distance. I do like you said though, and I practice every morning smiling. It gets easier. Like you promised it would._

_But I met this guy, he is a little odd, but dark haired with the most beautiful golden eyes. He was near the wood and watching me garden. I said good evening and he hadn't moved, just, smiled. _

_I smiled back and he asked me if it hurt. _

_I really didn't get it, but, maybe missing you made my smile slip. I told him it was OK really. He was just, so calm. It was kind of odd… well.. no. Nevermind. Anyway, when I asked him he name he wasn't there anymore, but I have a feeling I might see him again._

David frowned. Someone with dark hair and golden eyes? That didn't sound like anyone in town. Most were light or brown haired in this area and he'd only ever read about people with golden eyes. He gave a quick flip through the journal and in the back a photo fell out, picking it up he saw it was Valerie, smiling. She was knelt in her garden and giving a peace sign after what was obviously a good harvest. He unconsciously found himself smiling at the photo. There was just something so infectious about that grin. He tucked the photo back into the book.

Checking the time he was close to the end of his shift so he boxed up the remains and put the files and photos in the box to go down to the evidence room. This was a closed case anyway, it was clearly suicide.

There was no reason for him to be concerned about what was obviously the results of a delusional mind.

00oo00

Several days later David was standing by as the woman's ashes were interned in a communal tomb at the cemetery. As they closed the lid for a moment, he could almost swear he heard laughter. Tinkling infectious and happy.

He frowned looking around himself and found himself staring towards the shadows at the edge of the wood, did he just see a swish of a skirt? A faint voice singing and.. glowing eyes….

David was brought out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see the funeral director. So he set the flowers down on the top of the stone case as another tiny plaque was added to the side. "We found a few things in her pockets that I think your people must have missed when she was brought here." He said holding out a small envelope. David took it and frowned. He had been sure that everything had been gone over. And usually once a body had been autopsied they had destroyed the garments if there were any and so there would have been nothing on the body.

"It was quite nice of your people to have dressed her up like that. Looked almost like one of those porcelain dolls." The director said. "A shame she was cremated, she would have had a pretty open coffin if there had been anyone to come to her funeral."

David felt like he'd been pole axed "_Did they send the right body?"_ he thought to himself. He'd seen the body before she'd been bagged and brought it. She had been well on the way to decomposition. Maggots in her flesh. There had been no way someone could have called that a 'pretty corpse'. Even her broken neck had been stiffened from the effects of rigor mortis.

Back at the station he checked, and indeed the correct body had been sent out. Deciding that the director might have just messed up who was who at the funeral home he shrugged and went on with his day. Partway through he had sat down and something rumpled in his pocket. Pulling it out he blinked.

It was the photo, he wasn't sure who took it but it was of Valerie, knelt in her garden, smiling huge and holding up a peace sign. He gulped, as he recalled he'd seen this particular picture before. She had a basket full of huge vegetables she'd been gathering, but what caught his eye wasn't so much the scene of a garden and happy face, no it was the shadows of the garden shed behind her, pressed up against the forest.

And the strange smiling face in shadow. It was as if the figure in the photo was there, with her, but something was twisted, out of whack.

He could only make out, glowing eyes and the glowing smile.

Disturbed he put the photo down and got up, hurrying down to the files and coming back up with that box of Valerie's case.

He pulled out the journal, the photos. Going through them quickly and with a red pen he began to circle the same glowing eyes, always in the shadows, and always close to Valerie. He could put them in order, some of the photos dated, some not, but he noticed how that figure seemed to get clearer the more recent the photo was taken.

He pulled over the journal and flipped quickly to the back. There was an empty space, where a photo had been, but the photo was missing. Did someone take it? Decided to send it to be on her for the cremation and the director decided against it?

He looked at what had been written, over the spot the photo should have been stuck.

_Me and my Friend_

It was dated just a few days before her death.

He glanced at the remaining pages of the journal. Most were empty except the last one, where her neat hand scrawled a message.

_My friend, my Puppetman, he says I won't have to be alone anymore and no one will ever have to die again who I don't want to have die anymore._

_And neither of us will be lonely. He will always be my undying friend and I will be his doll._

He felt such a chill down his spine. It was as if the station grew very cold, and the shadows got very deep.

He gulped and felt himself shake as he could… hear humming. Just a cheerful happy tune, steps behind him like someone was dancing.

"Hey David, want some coffee?"

He turned, seeing the new kid by the door, he held a couple cups of coffee and held one up in invitation for the detective.

"Oh sure." He went over, taking the cup and glad for the warmth.

He really needed to get his head on straight. Packing up the box again he pushed it to the side of the table and turned his attention to cases that were not finished as this one was.

But he could hear that happy giggling in the back of his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dancing Doll**

_Chapter 2_

_Inspired by creepypasta character created by bleedingheartworks_

00oo00

David sat in his favorite chair, slowly loading his gun. Dressed down to just his undershirt and slacks, his bare feet covered in dirt and minor cuts. He could feel the cold sweat running down the back of his neck.

And a cheerful song being sung, such a strange and wrong sound at this moment. With his house so cold and the only light a single lamp giving a golden glow that was in no way comforting. On the table before the lamp was a photo, with its shadowed figure and the smiling face of the woman in her garden.

He sent the cylinder spinning and then stopped it with his hand on the side of it. He rested his forehead against the cool shaft of the weapon, taking a strange sort of comfort. As behind him he could hear steps, like someone was dancing.

When he heard two sets of steps, he knew it would soon be all over.

_It's time to no longer be alone…_

00oo00

David kept finding himself coming back to the box and the case. Not really by choice, but because one thing kept bothering him. The dark-haired golden eyed man and the fact that that blasted picture kept showing up where ever he went!

David said nothing about it, but he was beginning to wonder if he needed a vacation. He had the photo memorized by this point. Every feature of it and yet whenever he looked that figure in the shadows seemed to be getting more detailed somehow.

He glared at the photo holding it up to the light and taking a lighter he set the edges on fire. Watching the colors bubble and warp as the flames went from slow to fast, and letting it go, what hit the ground was nothing but ash. Which he stepped on smearing into the precinct's parking lot just to be sure.

A giggle made him turn around eying the shadows wearily.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hey, David? What's up man?" it was one of the guys from the file room. He forced himself to relax, a twitch in his cheek like a nervous tick.

"Oh hey um," he blanked on the fellow's name. Why did he just blank on his name? He knew all the guys in the station, why did he just blank?

He reached up rubbing his face.

"David, you don't look so good," the guy told him with concern.

"Sorry, I'm just still hung up a bit on a case from a couple months ago." He put his hands into his pockets of his coat and paused, feeling a sudden chill, as if someone just took a cold wire and twisted it around his throat.

"Oh the suicide? I mean, it was a sad thing, seriously, she had such a cute smile. Thought about asking her out a time or two myself. But hey, well can't get hung up on the past. It's a closed case, don't let it get to you." And he gave his shoulder a squeeze and went on.

David looked down at shaking hands as he uncurled his fist, "I wish I could…" he said softly "It seems this case won't let go of me" in his hand, the edges burned the ink slightly bubbling, was the photo.

00oo00

He was feeling like he was running out of time, something was hanging on, something wanted him to know maybe? Or was he thinking too much Hollywood? He knew everything he could about the woman, and still he knew even less about her golden eyed stranger.

For Valerie had one of those 'eventful' lives. From a young age it almost seemed as if she was curse, everyone she was attached to died. All those dates he looked up, none of it was the girl. These people died of plane crashed, drunk drivers, freak accidents and natural causes. Her grandparents of old age, her parents with drunks, her best friend died during a routine operation, her brother was crushed to death by a fallen pillar at a work site. She'd been engaged as least once that he could find and had a couple boyfriends.

And yet everyone she cared for ended in death.

Some of it she had written about, he took it just for her insanity at first but as time gone on he was beginning to wonder. How she spoke about those she knew, friends, family, how much she missed them, and how lonely she was. How she didn't let herself get close to anyone anymore.

Then she started speaking about him. Her 'puppetman' who seemed to have a thing for dolls and from her writing said he was going to make her into one of his best.

There had been no fear her in writing, just a sort of sad lonely acceptance, and almost an excitement at the prospect that it would all end soon.

And this disturbed him more. How could anyone be so calm about the idea of being stalked by what was obviously a deranged killer? How could she call him her friend?

David didn't understand and it was beginning to haunt his dreams.

A constant singing, movement in the shadows.

It was as if someone was slowly drawing him into a dance and he wanted nothing to do with it.

But he was being given no choice.

00oo00

He hardly slept now. David couldn't remember the last time he ate, his only drink had been beer and whiskey.

No one called.

He kept glancing at his phone, wondering when work would call. When was the last time he'd been in?

Oh yeah, he was on medical leave. Had a breakdown a few weeks ago at a murder scene.

Been that guy, what was his name again? From filing.

Last he heard they were still trying to find all the piece of him. They were ruling it suicide.

It was the most fucked up suicide David had ever seen.

He kept blanking on the guy's name, even when he was staring right at it.

Why the hell couldn't he remember the guy's name?

It was when he heard someone humming a cheerful tune, and when he looked up he saw glowing eyes and a smile to match from the shadows.

_Be calm._

"**I WILL NOT BE FUCKING CALM!" **

And now like then, something hit the wall, he heard the shattering of glass. Stepping back he winced as he stepped on bit of shattered glass that had scattered along the wooden floor back towards him. He looked to see what he'd broken, some stupid candy dish his mother had sent him last Christmas, and part of the window.

A cold breeze was already making its way into the house. But outside seemed oddly, dark, somehow.

And around him there was giggling.

00oo00

It had to stop. It all had to stop. David wasn't even sure where he was now. Just somewhere.

He was outside. The asphalt under his feet was freezing, well likely because he wasn't wearing any shoes.

Or a jacket.

Rubbing his face David tried to remember what the hell happened. Last he recalled he'd tried to watch some TV, the still broken window leaking in cold air that it didn't matter how high he'd turned his thermostat it was still freezing in his place.

So he'd just given up and didn't bother, it was a waste of money anyway.

There was some little annoyingly cheerful tinkling tune from a commercial when he realized that the TV was on mute. That he was hearing a song and a voice giggling and humming.

Dance! Come dance with me!

The feeling was so.. inviting, elating, it cut through the morose and fog of the last few days, or had it been weeks? David didn't know, his calendar said it was September, but it felt too cold. He was pretty sure there was snow outside.

He had stood up and not quite in his vision, but all around him as he turned, trying to see it, a figure. Pale, ethereal, entreating, and in white, danced.

And the song went on. Inviting him to join, to dance now, and forever.

"NO!" and he dove out his door, about took it off its hinges.

He had to get out of here, he was just going crazy.

But now he stood in the middle of a road, not sure where he was at. Trees all around him, no houses, no lights, and it was starting to snow.

_Are you alone?_

It was static sounding, male, and David turned slowly. He could make out the golden eyes and the smile clearly.

And soon he could make out more. Grey skin, black on black on black in terms of clothing. Someone who looked both old and young.

Who smiled at him, like he knew a great joke and would let David in on it if he just came closer.

Became his friend.

David shook, this was him. The Dark haired puppet man that Valerie had spoken of.

"You were behind…. GREG!" finally the name came to him, "And Valerie, and the other suicides!"

_They call me the puppeteer_

He seemed to almost sing and took a step towards him. Smiling so calmly like he was in a joke and about to let his best buddy David in on one too.

David wasn't about to let himself be in on this joke. Because he had a feeling he wouldn't like the punch line.

"Fuck off, you ain't any 'buddy' of mine!" and he ran.

Ran past the shadow man. And dancing on his heels was a giggling laughter. A twisted mockery of the girl he'd found in that journal and those photos.

00oo00

He turned and found the Puppetman dancing with the Doll, the woman looked more girlish and innocent.

A lie. All of it was a lie.

He turned his gun and fired.

But then he was firing at ghosts.

The Puppeteer did not seemed pleased though his smile never wavered. It was like golden strings suddenly burst forth.

David screamed as one wrapped around his arm and pulled back with a snap. His shoulder making a sick crunching snapping sound. Firie pain shooting down his spine. He sank to the floor. His gun falling.

No, no he wasn't going to live.

But he sure as hell was going to pick the way he went!

His good hand reached for the gun and he looked up meeting the eyes of this so called Puppeteer.

And with slow deliberation he put the gun under his chin.

And he grinned.

00oo00

Detective June Bannings looked over the scene. The house was a mess and it had definitely been awhile before anyone had found the body.

"This is the oddest suicide I've ever seen."

She ignored the voices, investigating the scene of her predecessor.

Using her pencil she opened his hand, it was odd how he'd chosen to fire the gun with his off hand, but he clutched something in his right.

A photo. The edged burned, but the image still clear. A woman was smiling at the camera giving a peace sign. Seated among her garden and basket of vegetables.

She frowned, wondering if the image had been really damaged as she swore she could see something standing in the shadows of the shed behind the woman….

But she shook her head and put the picture in a bag for evidence.

Maybe they could all find out what sent the prior detective off his rocker and to put a gun to his head.


End file.
